Waxing and Waning
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Dean's dying, somehow mortally wounded during a simple hunt. Even if they find the cause is a cure possible? HURT!Sick Dean Not death fic
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I would like to thank SupernaturalGeek for what I think is a truly brilliant and beautiful title that really captures this story. In fact—I'd like to dedicate this one to her, for brilliant titles, amazing encouragement and unflagging support even with my gremblings!_

**Waxing and Waning**

Chapter One

It was the smell that woke Dean. Fresh coffee. Not the crap that Sam tried to brew in a hotel room. Real honest to god coffee. He opened his eyes and found his gaze returned by a large green-eyed cat. "Get off me," he pushed at the cat, but it ignored his efforts. In fact it started purring.

Sunlight was pouring through the curtained window. Dean sat up, much to the cat's disgust. He looked around the room, stretched gingerly and rose from the bed. He padded quietly across the tiny hall to check on his brother. Sam was still sleeping, looking relaxed and childlike in his sleep—the deep lines of worry partially missing from his face. Dean sighed, the last couple of weeks had been hell on the kid, but what a difference a day could make. He turned and headed downstairs, in search of coffee.

It was just yesterday that he had checked himself out of the hospital against medical advice, and Sam's vehement protests. The long stay at the hospital had finally gotten to be too much. All the doctors, coming and going, shaking their heads, not knowing why their patient was dying, but dying he was. "Nothing we can do, out of our hands, don't know, wasting disease." Their words echoed through his head and he could see what it was doing to Sam.

His brother had stayed in the room as much as he could. Dean chased him out from time to time to give them both a break. Sam would come back a few hours later, showered, still exhausted, and sit back by the bed. Hour after hour, the lines of worry getting deeper, the smudges under his eyes getting darker and Dean could do nothing to help. Nothing to ease his brother's pain, except wish, even hope, that whatever was killing him would just hurry up and get it over with.

Dean knew he was in bad shape. The pain was eating away at him and the dark hole inside himself continued to grow. Nothing helped, nothing stopped the pain, nothing stopped the growing darkness. It even denied him sleep. Oh, he pretended, but as soon as he heard Sam drop off, he would open his eyes and lay there, listening to the sounds of the hospital, occasionally watching his brother sleep.

Then, yesterday, he couldn't take it anymore. What was the point of just waiting there? He knew he had only a day or two left and he didn't want to die in the hospital, didn't want Sam to have to be in that sterile place alone. Sure, there were a couple of hot nurses—well, actually one hot and two passable, but that certainly wasn't enough keep him there. It was late spring, the sun was out and he wanted to feel the sun on his face one more time, so he told Sam they were leaving. It had not been pleasant.

"What the hell? You can't just leave," Sam said, desperate, angry.

"Why not, they can't do anything for me here, they just poke and prod and shake their heads," he had nearly yelled back.

"They might help, they might figure it out:"

"It has been two weeks Sammy, they are not figuring it out," he looked at his brother and saw the fear and grief in the younger man's eyes. "Please Sammy, I don't want to die in this room. Please." Wishing, hoping his brother would understand.

"Dean…" Sam sighed, shook his head and started again. "Ok, on one condition."

"What?"

"I heard about this herb shop. I want to try out some...I want to stop by there and get a few things, just…"

"An herb shop? Dude, have you lost your mind?"

"I've been doing some research," Dean rolled his eyes at that. "I found a few items in plant lore that I thought might help and I was going to go by there and come back here, but now you could go with me?" He made it into a question

The admission had cost his brother. Dean knew that, so he relented. "I'll go to the shop. It's probably full of crystals and incense and nothing more."

The shop was on a busy street so Sam dropped Dean off. He groaned, the effort of walking was enormous and the name of the shop was—god help me—the "Happy Health Nut." The door was brightly painted and the bell tinkled cheerfully as he entered the store.

"Welcome to the Health Nut," the girl behind the counter greeted him. "Can I help you?" She really looked the part, long skirt, beads and Dean was pretty sure he smelled patchouli.

"I'm meeting someone. Can you just get this stuff for me?" He handed her the list Sam had given him. "Just do that and you can go push the crystals and sage wands on someone else."

She looked upset and stepped out of the room.

"I can't have you talking to my employees that way."

Dean looked up. This one didn't look the part quite so much. Jeans, t-shirt, shoulder length hair, no patchouli, maybe forty? She was holding his list.

"What?"

"You can't just come in here and start insulting my employees," she said. She cocked her head and frowned at him. "Have we met?"

"Doubt it. I try to avoid freaked out New Age wack jobs," he hurt and it made him even more belligerent than usual cheery self.

"Freaked out New Age wack job? Maybe I should sell you a crystal and a sage wand so you can shove them up your ass."

"Great customer service," he shot back.

"Maybe be you would like to take your business elsewhere?"

"I just want the things on the list then I'll leave," he said. Where was Sam? He was starting to feel like he needed to sit down—or fall down. Nice choice.

She looked at the list in her hand. "This is what you came in here for?"

Dean nodded. "That and the sage wand for my ass."

She smiled at that and then looked back at the list. "Vervain, dill, St. John's Wort and red clover? You crossed a witch lately?"

"What?"

"_Trefoil, John's wort, vervain and dill/hinder witches of their will_," she said, obviously reciting. "It is one of the oldest herbal charms against black magic. Pre-Saxon, probably."

"Huh?" He was surprised, what the hell was Sam up to anyway?

He heard the door and hoped it was Sam. Dean was trying to figure out what to say when he heard Sam gasp "I don't believe it." When he turned to look at his brother he saw relief on Sam's face, pure, unadulterated relief. "I don't believe it. Thank god."

The woman was smiling, "Sam? It's good to see you!" Sam hugged her.

"I take it you two know each other?" Dean said.

"This is my brother, Dean."

The smile she turned on Dean was warm and welcoming. "Nice to meet you."

"This is Bryn, um, Dr. Bryn Elswyth," Sam said to Dean. He turned back towards her, "I can't believe you're here. I was thinking about you just last night. Odd coincidence."

"How many times do I have to tell you, there is no such thing as coincidence?" she said with a smile. "Are you alright?" She said looking at Dean.

"Dean?" Sam was looking at him a little strangely. "Dude, are you ok?"

For his part, Dean was struggling with the pain that had suddenly welled up inside him. It had been slowly building since he left the hospital and the steady flow of painkillers, but now it felt like something was twisting in his chest. His heart was racing, each beat excruciating, it felt like a heart attack, he felt like he was hyperventilating, his awareness was focused inward. He felt himself lowered to a chair.

"Support his back," Bryn said to Sam. "Susie! Bring me the blue bottle from the locked cupboard." Then Dean felt a hand on his chest. "Dean, breathe, slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth," her voice was gentle, but firm, compelling him to obey. "Again, breathe. Come on." Sam was supporting him with an arm across his back, Dean leaned back into that comforting embrace. "Good, breathe again." The pain was receding a little, the relief moving outwards from where her hand was placed on his chest. "Thank you Susie," she said, then Dean felt something held to his lips, "Drink. It'll help."

Dean swallowed and gagged a little. It tasted like brandy and swamp muck. The pain backed off a little more. He sagged against his brother.

"Can you help Dean?" He heard his brother ask, hope and fear coloring his voice. "You helped Jess…"

"I don't know, but we'll see. Where are you staying?" She said, her hand still on Dean's chest, somehow keeping the worst at bay.

"The Blue Spruce Motel," Sam said.

"Wow, you could have picked a bigger armpit, but I'm not sure how," she said with a smile. "Are you able to get going?" She asked Dean softly. He nodded. "Susie bring me my purse. You will have to close tonight, and probably open for the next few days."

"What's going on? Where are you going?" Sam asked a little desperately.

"We're going," she said. "First to get your things and then to my place."

"What?" Sam said.

"I can't let you stay at a pit like the Blue Spruce when I have two perfectly good brand new beds in my brand new addition at my house. And you look like you could stand a little home cooking," she said with a gentle smile.

"We can't impose," Sam said automatically. Dean knew his brother was thinking that if they were at the motel Sam might be able to talk him into going back to the hospital.

"Didn't you just ask for my help? This is part of that, you two are coming home with me. End of statement. There is no such thing as coincidence, Sam. My addition was just finished and the beds were just delivered and I had a feeling I would need an extra loaf of bread today, so it is there, waiting to be baked. "

"I don't know."

"Sam," Dean said, his brother looked at him. "I don't really care where we go, but I think we should go." He needed to lay down, amazing how much energy sitting up took.

"Ok, Dean," Sam paused, obviously torn. "We'll stop by the hotel and I'll get our bags and we'll be on our way before you know it." Sam pulled Dean to his feet, he had to help his brother to the car. He settled Dean into the passenger seat, Bryn got in back and they headed towards the hotel.

Dean stayed in the car while they went into the room to get their stuff. He wouldn't have been all that much help, and dragging him in and out of the car might have bothered Sam. He leaned his head against the window. It was nice to be in the Impala again. There was a breeze coming in through the open window on the driver's side. Much nicer than the hospital. The door to the room opened again and he heard them talking when they came out.

"How long?" He heard her ask.

"How long what?" Sam answered her, he heard the confusion in his brother's voice.

"How long has he been in the hospital fighting this?"

"How did you…almost two weeks," Dean could hear the catch in Sam's voice. I think this is harder on him than me.

"It'll be ok, Sam" she said as they got back into the car.

It was about fifteen minutes before they pulled up in front of the smallish house. It was ringed by gardens and trees stood at each corner of the yard. Dean tried to get out of the car. The attack had exhausted him. All he could focus on was getting in the house. Sam came around and helped him up. The gate creaked as Bryn opened it. The walk to the door was a blur, just one more step, just one more step, he kept repeating to himself. Then the door was open and he sank gratefully into the couch.

"I'll be right back, Dean. I need to get our bags. You ok?"

Dean nodded, closing his eyes, and before Sam was even out the door something happened that had not happened for more than a week. Dean slept.

It was the smell that woke him that time, too. The scent of freshly baked bread snaked itself into his consciousness even before he opened his eyes. He was aware he was still on the couch. His shoes were off and someone had pulled a blanket over him and put a pillow under his head. An odd sound coming from the region near his head caused him to open his eyes. A black cat was sitting on the back of the couch purring at him. When it saw his eyes open it stretched and hopped off the couch.

He sat up carefully. Odd, the pain had receded a bit more. Must have been the sleep. He could tell most of the day had slipped by, the light coming through the windows had the look of late afternoon. He followed the sound of voices into the kitchen.

Sam was perched on the counter. "Dean!" He hopped down when he noticed his brother. "You look better." He said surprised.

"I feel better," Dean was equally surprised. "Is that bread I smell?"

"Bread and stew and apple pie for dessert, if you think you can eat." Bryn said, getting plates out of the cupboard.

"I think I can," again surprised. He hadn't felt like eating for a long time.

He sat down at the table. Sam sat across from him, his eyes searching Dean's face. "I really do feel a little better. I think the sleep helped." Sam smiled and nodded. His eyes were bright. "No chick flick moments before dinner." Dean said.

"Yeah, right," Sam said still smiling that idiot smile.

"How did you meet?" Dean said, hoping to divert his brother's attention.

"At Stanford," Bryn said putting a plate of food down in front of Dean. "He and Jessica attended a series of lectures I was giving."

"A series of lectures?" Dean said trying to reconcile the image of someone who gave university lectures with the woman serving him food.

"Yeah. It was Jess's idea," Sam picked up the narrative. "She saw the flyer for the first one on the psycho-spiritual aspects of healing in the Western world and said she wanted to go. We ended up signing up for the whole series and even took the class she offered."

"Psycho-spiritual aspects?" Dean said. "Man, you are such a geek."

"Thanks."

Dinner was pleasant. The conversation light. Sam didn't bring up the hospital stay, Bryn asked no questions and Dean relaxed. He could feel the tension of the long encounter with the medical profession (honestly, not his favorite profession) ebbing away. Halfway through his apple pie he found he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Dean? You ok?" Sam said from beside him.

"Sleepy Sammy. I want to go to bed," Dean said, sounding to himself like Sam had when he was about six. He smiled.

"Let's get you upstairs." Sam helped him up the stairs and into bed. Dean was pretty sure Sam carefully tucked him in and sat by the bed until he was fully asleep, although that could not have been more than a very few minutes.

_To be continued _


	2. Chapter 2

**Waxing and Waning**

Chapter Two

"Is that coffee?" Dean said coming into the kitchen, the morning sun was lighting the room. Bryn turned and smiled brightly at him.

"I didn't expect you up first," she said handing him a cup.

"I didn't either. Sam's usually up by now, hovering. I guess he just tired himself out."

"Let him sleep. He's safe. You both are for that matter."

Dean smiled and rolled his eyes. Funny how people tossed that word around, never really understanding what it meant. When was the last time he was actually safe? Before mom died? He sighed, then caught a whiff of himself. "Wow, I stink."

"I washed your clothes last night, it looked like it had been awhile since they had seen a washer, and there are fresh towels in the bathroom if you want a shower. You should hurry a little though," she said.

"Why?" That sounded a little ominous.

"Because the cinnamon rolls will be done in half an hour."

Dean stood in the shower for a full ten minutes just letting the water run over his body. He leaned against the wall and looked inward, the black thing was still there, the pain still present although it had backed off. But it was still there, lurking like a wild animal at the edge of firelight.

When Dean stepped out of the shower the damn cat was there, sitting on the sink. "What do you open doors? And close them behind yourself?" The cat gave him that look of disgust that only cats can achieve, hopped off the sink and waited by the door. "You got in, you get out." The cat just looked at him. Dean could smell the promised cinnamon rolls and looked at the cat. "Ok, you win," he said and opened the door.

The cat led the way back to the kitchen. "That cat is following me," Dean said to Bryn as he came back into the room.

"I asked him to keep an eye on you," Bryn said. "Didn't I?" The cat looked at her and sat down by a plate on the floor. "Oh, ok, here you go," she poured a bit of cream from the pitcher into the plate.

"You asked the cat to keep an eye on me?" Dean said accepting the cinnamon roll she handed him. He muttered.

"Did you just say freaked out New Age wack job?" She looked at him with a smile.

"Yeah, I did."

"Nice. And I forgot that sage wand at the shop." She sat down across from him. "How do you feel this morning? Honestly?" Dean hesitated, not sure what he should admit to, not sure... "I won't tell Sam anything unless you want me to, consider it client/freaked out New Age wack job privilege."

Dean smiled. "I am feeling a bit better. A little stronger, but it is still there." He looked back at her. "Can you help me?"

"I don't know. I don't know what is going on." She looked out the window. "Are you up to sitting in the garden? We could talk out there and Sam couldn't sneak up on us." She seemed to understand why he was a little hesitant.

Dean got up and followed her out into the sunlit garden. The sun felt good, and it wasn't coming through a hospital window. That made it even better. He stood with his eyes closed, his face towards the sun.

"I meant it, you know."

"What?" Dean sat down on the chair she indicated.

"About being safe here. I saw you roll your eyes, and I know why."

"You do?" He raised his eyebrows. "I doubt that."

"Yes, I do. People bandy that word around—safe. They feel safe with stout locks and an alarm system, but people like us, we know that's not safe. A good lock doesn't do much against most of the things that go bump, you know."

"What do you mean people like us?" What had Sam told her?

"People who know what's out there, people who have seen what we've seen."

"Ok, I guess." How did she know that?

"But you are safe here."

"No place is safe."

"This place is safe," she insisted. "It is well and truly Bolted."

"What?"

"Look around you, what do you see?"

Dean looked at the garden. "Stupid cat, flowers…Is that an iron fence? Does it go all the way around the property?"

"Fences don't do much good unless they do. And that is the inner fence. There is another, further out. There are also rowan, blackthorn, yew and elder at the corners. Yarrow and St. John's Wort along the fence." She stood up and pointed to plants as she named them "Vervain, wolf's bane, henbane, oak with golden mistletoe, witches bane, toad wort, alecost, wound wort, betony, hyssop, I could go on. And if you notice the design of the garden…"

Dean stood. The garden was planted in an intricate knot and further out he could see the points of a pentacle outlined in yarrow. The tree she had identified as elder lined the back of the garden. There were stones in various patterns scattered around the garden and beyond, around to the front of the house.

"Oh, and the house and garden stand on consecrated ground."

"It's a freaking fortress," Dean said, impressed.

"I prefer sanctuary, but fortress will do."

Comprehension suddenly dawned on him. "It's why I am felling better, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said with a smile as he sat back down. "I was feeling a little guilty about dragging you and your brother out here, until you went to sleep the instant you were in the house. That was a good sign, especially since Sam said you hadn't slept in more than a week. You should know the effect is palliative. Which brings us back to what happened."

"Sam knew I wasn't sleeping? He never said anything." Dean sighed, his baby brother was such a brat.

"It was going to be a simple salt and burn. She had been killing children, the town legend said she was some kind of witch, burned at the stake and was a little mad about it. We dug her up and salted her and then she appeared and she was pissed. I told Sam to finish the job and I tried to distract the bitch. It was going as good as distracting an angry spirit usually goes, when I think she stabbed me. It felt like something pierced my chest. I couldn't breath, I felt like I was bleeding out. Sam finished burning her, he helped me up, assured me I wasn't bleeding and we went back to the hotel."

He paused and looked at her, "I started going down hill pretty fast. I didn't tell Sam, but I think he figured it out when I passed out and smashed my face into the pavement outside the door. Next thing I know I am in the car, and we are going to the hospital." He grimaced, "that was two weeks ago and since then I have been getting worse. Everyday a little more gone—if you know what I mean? I can feel it inside me. It wouldn't let me sleep, it wouldn't let me eat. The doctors couldn't find anything and after awhile they just shook their heads."

"You say it felt as if you were stabbed?"

"Something like that. Can you help?" He asked again, wondering why his hopes had been raised.

"I still don't know what it is. And when I do find out, I don't know if I can help. But, if nothing else, I can give you someplace safe."

"Someplace to die?" He said matter-of-factly.

"Someplace safe to be with your brother to say good-bye, yes." The cat got up and looked at the house. "What is it Pyewacket?"

"Dean?" Sam was yelling. "Dean?" There was a note of desperation in his voice.

"Out in back, Sammy," Dean shouted back, standing up so his brother could see him.

Sam rushed out the kitchen door and into the garden. He was still in his nightclothes. "Dean are you alright?"

"Sure. You get up on the wrong side of the bed, princess?" He could sense his brother's panic and was worried about him. What will Sam do when—if—this thing kills me? He forced a smile, "That was quite an entrance."

"Uh, sorry," Sam ran a hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. "I woke up and went to check on you…"

Dean smiled, "Grab yourself some coffee and dude, the cinnamon rolls are great." He walked back towards the kitchen, he could tell Sam was watching him every step of the way. "I'm feeling better."

"Really?" Dean nodded. Sam looked at him, relief, joy on his face. "That's great, man."

They sat at the kitchen table, a comfortable silence between them. It felt odd. Just the two of them, sitting in a kitchen having breakfast. Is this what normal felt like? Normal for them was crap coffee in a crappy motel with crappy doughnuts, usually after a crappy night's sleep. The feeling of safety, finally realized, was settling on him like a soft blanket. Tension he didn't even know was always there was gone. It felt—well—honestly it felt really weird.

Bryn came into the kitchen carrying two large shopping bags. "I need to run into the shop, make sure Susie hasn't blown the place up, drop this stuff off and pick up a couple of books. Will you two be ok for three or four hours?" Dean nodded. "My cell number is on the counter, call if you need anything. And don't leave the gardens."

"Hell, no," Dean said. She laughed and left. They heard a car start up a few minutes later.

"I'm going to shower and change, Dean. I'll be right back, ok?"

"It's ok, Sam, I'm fine, relax." As soon as Sam had left the room Dean picked up his coffee and walked back out into the garden. He wandered around looking at the plants and the garden design. The cat followed him. "Are you going to sneak around behind me from now on? You might as well just lead the way." Great, I'm talking to the stupid cat.

He sat down on the garden bench and turned his face towards the sun. "I'll probably burn the crap out of my face," he said to the cat.

"Dude, are you talking to the cat?"

Dean ignored him. "Doesn't the sun feel great?"

Sam sat down beside him, "Are you talking to the cat and sunbathing? Dean are you ok? Lost your mind?"

"I don't think so, it's just, I don't know, I've never felt safe like this before and it's kind of like being drunk."

"Alright, what is going on?"

"This place, she showed me, we're safe here, actually safe. No looking over our shoulders, no all night vigil, safe." He was surprised at the emotion in his voice, he hoped Sam hadn't caught it.

"Safe?" Sam said. Dean looked over at him—what was going on in that freaky mind? He watched the emotions play across his brother's face, surprise, then his eyes softened—like he'd remembered something—and he looked back at Dean, Sam looked sad. "I'm sorry, man."

"For what?"

"I guess I never realized…So we're safe here? Are you sure?"

Dean smirked, "Look around, ignore the stupid cat, but look around. Iron fence, elder, rowan, yew, blackthorn, yarrow," he tried to sound like he knew what everything was, what they all meant. See Sammy, I know stuff.

Sam got up and walked to the fence, looking back toward the house. "The house is in a pentacle. And that knot looks familiar, a warding spell?"

"It's a freaking fortress," Dean said again.

Sam came back and sat down beside him again, this time their shoulders touched. "It's why you're feeling better."

"She said it's just palliative. But for now, it's not so bad." The thing twisted in his chest, giving lie to his words, he felt it, but didn't mention it.

"Does she know what's going on? Can she help?"

"Not yet, but we can be a little patient, can't we?" Dean felt Sam sag just a little. Diversion time again. "What did you mean? Back at the shop when you said she helped Jess?"

Sam looked at him for a minute. "You heard that?" He paused, "We had been going out for a while, I knew there was something up with her, but she didn't really say anything. Then one day she came home and said there was something wrong, seriously wrong. Her doctor was worried, she was worried and as soon as she told me I was worried. She asked how I felt about mind-body healing. She had seen the flyer for Bryn's first lecture and wanted to go."

He ran his hands through his hair. "The first part of the lecture was mostly background stuff, interesting but, you know…"

"Academic?" Dean said with a snort.

"Yeah. After the break she got into some more interesting stuff. She never used words like magic, possession, ghost, demon, or that kind of thing, but that is what she was talking about."

"You'd recognize it."

"Uh huh. So Jess wanted to go to the next lecture and I was hooked, so we went. At the break that night Jess said she wanted to talk to her, in person you know, and asked if I was ok with that—of course I was. I wanted to talk to her, too. So we went up and she must have sensed something, she's a little strange that way, and she invited us out for coffee. We talked until, god, two or three in the morning, and she offered to help Jess."

"You called me then, didn't you?" Dean said looking at his brother, remembering a late night call several years before.

"Yeah, I just needed…"

"I understand. I made a few of those calls myself."

"I didn't always answer."

"I knew you were there."

Sam smiled and leaned back. "The sun is nice. Feels strange though, just sitting here."

"I was thinking that earlier, is this what normal feels like?'

"Not normal for us."

"No, not normal for us. But it is nice, gives us time, you know."

"Time for what, Dean?" Sam sounded angry, he sat up and looked at Dean.

Dean sighed. "We don't know if she can figure out how to help. Time to…"

"Say good-bye?"

"Among other things, yeah."

Sam's eyes were getting bright. "I won't let you die, Dean."

"You might have to, Sammy. You might not be able to save me this time."

"No, no. It won't happen, it can't."

"Sam, I am not going to spend what might be the last few days I have with you doing this."

"Doing what Dean?" Sam was angry. Dean stood up so he could look down on his brother—use the old height advantage. It had worked when they were kids, but since Sam had gotten taller it was a problem.

Dean looked down at Sam. "Fighting with you about whether I get to die or not. I won't…" The pain that had been a mere background hum suddenly exploded. Dean felt his knees give way. Sam caught him before he hit the ground.

"Dean! Hang on, I've got you."

Dean could feel Sam holding him, but that was only at the edge of his awareness. The pain was still moving outward, filling his body with fire. He could feel the wound growing. Finally his mind refused to take anymore, and slipped into darkness.

_To be continued_


	3. Chapter 3

**Waxing and Waning**

Chapter Three

Somebody was yelling and someone else was yelling back. That was the first thing Dean noticed, even before he opened his eyes. He recognized Sam's voice, then after a minute Bryn's voice. They seemed to be arguing about him.

"He needs to be back in the hospital," that was Sam.

"So they can do what?" Bryn, shouting back.

"Help him!" Sam's voice, sliding up half an octave.

"Like they've been helping him? All they can do is drug him until he is no longer anyone you know, anyone you will recognize. Until he doesn't know who you are and just slides away. I thought that wasn't what you wanted. I thought that was why you came to the shop."

"I came to the shop to get some herbs. I thought they would help. I didn't expect to be dragged off to this place. I just wanted the herbs."

"In case you forgot, I was the one that taught you that charm. Me. And in case you've forgotten you asked for my help!"

"I didn't expect this." Was Sam trying to just shout her down?

"Well, what did you expect? I was up all night trying to find answers for you. All night. What do you want? Miracles? Me to wave my magic wand and poof everything is perfect again? Doesn't work that way."

"But you helped Jess," Sam said, Dean could hear the anger draining away, giving way to that quiet desperation.

"Yeah, I did, but this is not easy, you know. There are no X-ray machines or CAT scans for this."

"But I thought that you could do something," getting angry again.

"Hey," Dean said, his voice was weak. "Hey," he tried a little louder. They still ignored him. He looked at the cat, sitting faithfully on the bed. "God you are a pest. Why don't you make yourself useful and go get them? Maybe they'll shut up." The cat looked at him and jumped down from the bed and slipped out the door. The argument abruptly stopped. Sam and Bryn came into the room.

"Dean," Sam said. "Are you feeling any better?" He was speaking very softly.

"Nice Sam, but really you don't have to whisper. I have been listening to the two of you shout at each other for the past few minutes." He sat up in the bed. It wasn't the same room he had been in last night. It was bigger, brighter and must be on the main floor.

"Dean are you sure you should be getting up?" Sam said, concerned.

"I'm not getting up, I'm sitting up. Big difference. I don't think I am quite steady enough to get up," Sam looked distressed by that statement. "Did you give me that swamp muck stuff again? My mouth tastes like something died in it."

Bryn laughed. "It does taste awful, doesn't it? It's not actually made from swamp muck, you know."

"Might as well be."

"Tell you what, I will go and make some tea that will help take the taste away. How's that?"

"Only if you take the stupid cat." The cat looked offended and stalked out after Bryn. "The cat and I are having issues." Dean said looking at his brother. Sam's eyes were bright. Oh, no, here it comes.

"Dean," Sam said in his "let's be reasonable" tone. "I think we should go back to the hospital."

"No."

"They might be able to help."

"No."

"Maybe they have figured something out."

"No."

"Just go back for a check-up."

"What part of no are you not hearing?"

"Bringing you out here was a bad idea."

"No, it wasn't, Sam. Can't you see that? This was the best idea you've had in awhile." He looked at Sam, hoping he would understand. "Whether I get better or not, at least we are safe. I—we—don't have to worry about anything. Just being here—being together. We're safe, Sammy. Actually safe. Do you know what that means to me? Did you know I have never felt safe? Not since Mom, not since that night. Never one night, never one day, when I didn't worry about you, about everything. Worry about how I could protect you, how I could keep you safe from everything out there." He stopped and watched a tear roll down his brother's nose and drop off onto his shirt.

"Dean…"

"Ok, Sam. Chick-flick is over. And you might as well accept that I'm not going to the hospital."

"Dean…"

"Sam…" He repeated back in the exact same whining tone.

Sam rolled his eyes and scrubbed a hand across his face. "For the time being we are not going back to the hospital." He said it like it had been his idea all along.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"I take from that affectionate exchange you two have settled it?" Bryn said as she walked back in the room carrying a mug of tea. The cat hopped back in the bed and sat down by Dean's hip.

"Stupid cat."

"Pyewacket likes you."

"Stupid cat." Dean said with disgust. Sam laughed, and Dean felt the tension drain out of the room. That's why I want to stay, Sam. It's different here. He took the cup of tea from Bryn and sipped it. Within a couple of minutes he was feeling sleepy, he wondered idly if she had put something in the tea or if it was just the after effects of the attack. He leaned his head back on the pillows. He felt Sam take the mug out of his hands before he dropped off to sleep.

It was late in the day when Dean woke up. He was alone in the room, the house was quiet. At least no one is yelling this time. He opened his eyes and stared at the intricate pattern on the ceiling. He didn't recognize it, but he was pretty sure it must be some kind of protective spell. He looked around the room and realized it must be Bryn's. It had a lived in feeling that the rooms he and Sam were using didn't. He sat up and when that felt ok he tried standing up. Success!

Dean wandered towards the kitchen. The house seemed empty. He looked out in the backyard and was surprised to see Sam sitting in the middle of the garden. It looked like he was weeding. Dean walked out into yard.

"Hey."

Sam looked up. "Hey. How are you feeling?" Dean could hear him trying to reign in his concern—you know not pressing, just asking.

"Better. The pain is bearable again." He sat down on the chair by Sam. "Dude, are you weeding?"

"Bryn says it's the deductible for the treatment."

"Has she figured something out?"

"Not yet," Sam looked down at his hands, "but she's trying everything she can think of."

"We need to have her give us some of that swamp muck when we leave. It might come in handy. Tastes gross, but does the trick."

Sam smiled at him. He must have heard Dean's carefully chosen words "when we leave." "Are you trying to make me feel better, Dean?"

"Nah. Why would I do that?"

"The laughing in the face of death thing. You seem to excel at it."

"Why not laugh at the bitch? Seems like a good idea to me."

"At least you have practice at it." Sam said with a sigh, returning to the weeding. "She has some really amazing stuff out here. Back at the back under the elder is a whole patch of mandragora, there's some hellebore and…Am I boring you with my enthusiasm?" He said with a smile.

Dean realized Sam was waiting for him to say something—he also realized he had heard Sam, but the words hadn't really processed. "Interesting stuff, Sammy. I'm sure it will all come in handy someday." Dean said leaning back in the chair. "Where is she?"

"She said she was going into her study to do some research for us. I asked if she needed help, but she said no—she sent me out here. I checked on her a while ago and she chased me out again. The cat's sitting in front of the study, on guard."

"The stupid cat? That's why he wasn't in my room when I woke up."

"You sound a little disappointed about that, dude."

"I'm just glad the pest let me alone." He said with a laugh, Sam was looking at him a little funny. "I'm going to see if she's found anything. I'll be back." He got up, a little unsteadily and walked into the house. He wanted to talk with Bryn about something that was bothering him, something he didn't want to discuss in front of Sam. He followed Sam's vague directions that the study was "at the back," he knew he had found the right place when the cat stood up, growled and took a swipe at him.

"Is that you Sam? I'm doing fine—go weed." Her voice from behind the door.

"It's Dean," he said to the door. The stupid cat was rubbing against his legs.

"Oh. Pyewacket, let him in."

Dean carefully stepped over the cat and opened the door. The room was lit by sun slanting through windows that faced the gardens. Bookcases lined one wall, dried herbs hung from the ceiling, there were bowls and mortars and other strange and odd items scattered on tables along the other wall. Considering her bedroom, he looked up; intricate patterns covered the entirety of the ceiling and traced onto the four walls like some kind of fanciful vine. "Holy crap," he said.

"I'll take that as a compliment, I guess," she said with a gentle smile. "Sit down." She moved a heavy book from a chair.

Dean sat down, the cat jumped onto his lap and settled in, purring. "Stupid cat," he said running his hand over its head.

"I told you, Pyewacket likes you. He doesn't like many people, you know. You should take it as a compliment."

"Sam told me you didn't want his help."

"Actually I could use his help, I just thought he needed to be doing something else. Plants are healing, in more ways than one, I thought it might help distract him. He has been driving me a little nuts."

"He's worried," Dean said.

"Of course he is." She was looking at him, her eyes searching his.

"Worries me," he said. How do I start this conversation? He sighed, it had seemed like a good idea a minute ago, but he was unsure how to start. How do you ask someone…?

"He can stay, Dean." she said gently.

"What?" He looked at her. How did she know?

"He can stay here, as long as he needs to, forever if that's what it takes," she said smiling reassurance. She laughed softly. "We can even bury you out back, it'd be good for the plants and you could haunt the place. I could use a friendly ghost hanging around. But, Dean, I don't think it will come to that. I will do everything I can to stop this."

"Do you think you can?"

"I don't know. I haven't dealt with anything even remotely like this for many years. Usually I deal with people with physical ailments. This, as I'm sure you know, is different."

"Yeah, I guessed that awhile ago," he said, laughing a little. He stopped, the pain was growing again.

"It's getting worse."

"Yeah. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be mobile," he sighed, he'd known he only had a day or two, but he'd felt so much better, by comparison, that morning.

"I guessed as much. I think we'll move you down to my room—it's a little better protected than the upstairs rooms. For the time being, though, go out and sit with your brother in the sun. You both need it. Pyewacket will come out with you." The cat, hearing his name, hopped off Dean's lap and walked to the door. He looked back at Dean.

"Stupid cat," he said and followed it out into the garden.

Sam was sitting almost exactly where Dean had left him. He wasn't doing anything, just sitting, staring at the ground. He didn't seem to notice Dean as he walked up. "Sam?" His brother looked up at him, tears on his face. He rubbed them away with a dirt-covered hand, leaving a muddy track across his cheek. He looked a lot like he had when he was four.

"I didn't hear you, Dean."

"Sorry, I thought you'd notice the stupid cat." He looked out towards the fence to give Sam a minute.

Sam cleared his throat, "You and that cat Dean, I think it's unhealthy. It's almost as bad as you and that car."

"I like the car, Sam. The cat is a pain." Dean looked at the chair, but lowered himself onto the ground beside his brother instead. "How's the weeding going?"

"Not very well, I think. I seem to be getting distracted," Sam said.

Diversion time. "How do you tell what the weeds are? All of this looks kind of like weeds to me, dude."

"True, not many people plant dandelions. She showed me what to pull up—mostly just grass. I can tell the difference between grass and a plant."

"At least one of us can," Dean said smiling at Sam.

Sam laughed. "Probably why you aren't weeding," he looked at Dean, anxiety on his face. "Did she say if she had found anything?"

"Nope. She had a bunch of really impressive looking books out, though. A couple didn't look like they were even in English. If there is something to find, I'm sure she'll find it. Funny thing, though."

"What's that?"

"We've hunted witches, burned their bones and now, here we are asking one for help."

"She's not a witch."

"Have we gone blind recently? Dude, look around. If she's not at least a little witchy what is she?"

"Just because her house is protected? Come on, Dean. Dad protected every room we ever stayed in."

"There is a big difference between a little salt and this place. This place could be attacked by the demonic version of an A-bomb and withstand the blast. If she's not a witch what is she? I'm working through my prejudice—it doesn't bother me that much, I just never expected to run into Glinda the Good."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Wizard of Oz? Hello?" Dean said laughing at him. "How many times did we watch it as kids, Sammy? Oh, that's right—you always hid from the flying monkeys."

"Flying monkeys are scary, Dean," he said reasonably.

"Yeah, you faced demons, ghosts, various ghouls and still had night terrors about flying monkeys. You are so weird sometimes."

"This from the guy that can't get on an airplane."

"Airplanes crash, Sam."

"And flying monkeys are scary, Dean." Sam was laughing with him.

"Maybe a little scary."

"Ah ha, I knew it—you were scared of the monkeys too!"

"Nope, of course not, not me, never." Dean nudged Sam with his shoulder. "It's nice out here in the sun."

"It is. I think I forgot how nice it was. We never really stop, do we?"

"We can't. There is always something else to hunt, someone else to help." Dean sighed. "Maybe we should schedule vacations for ourselves, every three months, take a day or two to just screw around."

"Ok, I'll hold you to that when we're back on the road."

"You do that, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

Dean laughed. It was nice to joke around with Sam. Things had been so tense since he got sick, actually even before that, this year was not shaping up all that well. The cat crawled on his lap, reappearing after a patrol of the garden. "Stupid cat," he said stroking its head. It started purring. He watched Sam return to the weeding, carefully pulling the grass from around the plants. At least if something happens to me, Sam will be safe here until he's ready to leave and I can think of worse places to haunt. Maybe I can even annoy the stupid cat.

They sat together in companionable silence for a long time. Every once in awhile one of them would say something—nothing really. A gentle teasing remark, a shared memory, a random thought. Nothing important. It was just sitting together. The cat stayed with them, occasionally hopping off Dean's lap to take a swipe at Sam's hand or to chase a bug. The cat always returned to Dean, he was beginning to wonder about what exactly it was, there was something weird with the stupid cat.

The sun was starting to dip in the horizon. Sam had stopped weeding and they were just sitting there, shoulders touching, talking. Sam was talking about where they might go next. He had heard about wendigo up north and what might be a skinwalker in Nevada. It was just idle talk. They never really planned where to go, anyway.

Dean had been holding on as long as he could. He didn't want the day to end. It had been, well, special. No worries, just he and Sam sitting and talking like they had when they were kids, before Sam had understood what was wrong with their life. All things considered, it had been a good day, but it had to end, as much as he didn't want it to. He took a breath, "Sammy?"

Sam stopped his chatter, "Yeah, Dean?"

"I think I need to go in now," he said looking at his brother with a smile.

"Sure thing. It's getting cold out here anyway." Sam stood and waited for Dean.

"I don't think I can get up on my own, Sam."

Sam looked at him, "What?" His brother closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again and smiled. "Ok, give me your hand." Dean reached a hand up and Sam pulled him to his feet. His legs didn't seem to be working quite the way they should, his knees started to buckle. Sam caught him, and put his arm around Dean's waist—like there was nothing odd happening. He more than half-carried Dean up the stairs and to the large bedroom. He helped Dean sit on the edge of the bed. "Is the pain bad?" He asked softly.

"Yep."

"I'm going to go get Bryn," Sam said turning.

"Don't leave, Sammy. Send the cat, he'll bring her," he gritted his teeth, the pain was definitely back with a vengeance. He looked at the cat sitting by the door. "Well, what are you waiting for? You want me to pass out or something first?"

"I think you might have lost your mind, Dean."

"Nice, Sam. Can you help me lay back?"

"Sure." He guided him carefully back onto the bed and pulled the quilt over him. "I'm going to go get her."

Dean grabbed his wrist. "Please don't leave, Sam." His brother looked a little startled by the request.

"Pyewacket came for me?" Bryn said coming into the room. She looked at Dean. "I'll be right back."

"See, I told you the cat would get her." Dean smiled at his brother, Sam was shaking his head.

Bryn came back into the room with a small bottle. "I should probably just leave a bottle of this in here. I think we're going to need it now."

"Brandy and swamp muck?" Dean asked through the growing pain.

"Yes. Hopefully it will let you sleep until this passes a bit. Can you lift his head Sam?" She held the bottle to his lips, he drank gagging at the taste.

Dean leaned back, bracing himself against the pain, the dark thing expanding in his chest. His heart was starting to pound, it hurt. His heart actually hurt. He felt her hand on his chest, a gentle numbing warmth moving out from her palm. It was pushing the pain away, pushing the darkness down.

"I told you Sammy, witch." He thought he heard a forced laugh from his brother before he slipped away.

_To be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

**Waxing and Waning**

Chapter Four

"He thinks you're a witch," Dean heard Sam say quietly from one side of the bed.

Gentle laughter from the other, "He does, does he?"

"Yeah, he said he didn't mind."

"That was kind of him," still with laughter in the voice.

"I told him you weren't, but he insisted."

"As long as you don't decide to hunt me, I don't mind either."

Dean was slowly becoming more aware. This time the pain was still very much with him. It wasn't as bad as it had been when Sam had brought him in from the garden, but it definitely wasn't good. He could feel a weight on his legs, the stupid cat no doubt. He has a sense that it was late, the day gone. He thought he could smell the remnants of food. He wasn't hungry. He shifted his leg and the weight moved. Yep, stupid cat. He opened his eyes.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. He was looking a little pale. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better than I was."

"Only a little?"

"Yeah, sorry." He wished he could say something that would take that look of his brother's face. He knew that a lie wouldn't help at this point, though, Sam would figure it out.

"I think I will go make you a cup of tea that should help a little, then grab a different book or two." Bryn stepped out of the room.

That was convenient, he looked at his brother. "Sam? You ok?"

Sam looked at him. Dean could see him trying to decide what to say. "What do you think?"

"Sam, it's gong to be ok."

"How Dean? She still doesn't have an answer, you are getting worse again," he stopped and ran his hand through his hair. "Sorry."

"I talked to her, she said you could stay here if…" Maybe I shouldn't go there.

"If, Dean? If what?"

"Nothing." He found himself wishing he hadn't opened his big mouth. Diversion time. "Can you help me sit up?" Sam looked upset. Maybe not the best diversion in the world, but it was all he could think of right then.

"Sure," Sam gently pulled him up and slid another pillow behind his back. "How's that?"

"Thanks Sammy. Much better." He smiled at his brother. "What time is it?"

"Bout nine I think. I'm not really sure."

"I wasn't out as long that time, was I? Did you eat?"

"Yeah, Bryn brought some stew back for me. I didn't want to leave."

The conversation was more than a little awkward. Dean sighed, and it was probably going to get worse. He tried to relax, shifting didn't seem to ease the pain, actually nothing seemed to be helping all that much right now. His brother was looking more than a bit haggard. These last two weeks were beginning to leave quite a mark on Sam. I just hope this is over soon, one way or another, for Sammy's sake.

Bryn came back in the room carrying two mugs. "I made some coffee for you, Sam. I hope that's ok?"

"Yeah, thanks," he took the cup she handed him.

Bryn offered the other mug to Dean. He reached out to get it, his hand was shaking too badly to hold on to it. Sam put his hand around Dean's to help steady it. Dean smiled his thanks. This was getting embarrassing. The tea had a minty flavor that helped cover up something a lot more bitter and kind of slimy tasting. Dean wasn't sure how slime was a flavor, but this tea definitely managed it.

"Tasty," he said with a grimace.

"I put mint in to help cover the taste," she said.

"Yeah, worked, too."

"Fine, I'll let you have it plain next time," she said with a smile.

"What's in it?" Sam asked her.

"Slime," Dean said.

"That's right, slime and some valerian, elder flower, meadowsweet and betony," she said. "I'm going to go back to the study. If you need me, send Pyewacket," she smiled when Dean rolled his eyes. "He can have another dose of the—what did you call it? Swamp muck? If he needs it," she said to Sam. Dean watched as she walked out of the room. She must know I need to talk with Sam. The cat hopped back on the bed and settled beside Dean.

"The cat's kind of strange," Sam said with a smile.

"Yeah, I think he might be a familiar," Dean said.

"Still think she's a witch?"

"Still think she's not?"

"Dean…"

"Sam…" He smiled at his brother. "Can you help me with the tea?" Sam picked up the mug and helped him drink. Sam put it back down on the bedside table. "Thanks. Kind of sucks, not being able to do it myself," he said, purposefully leaving an opening for Sam, if Sammy needed to talk.

"Don't worry about it, I don't mind." There was an edge to his brother's voice Dean didn't like.

"Yeah? Really?" Dean raised his eyebrows, doesn't sound like it.

"Really, Dean. I don't mind helping."

"You don't, huh?"

Sam looked at him, anger briefly flaring in his eyes. "What do you want me to say Dean? I don't mind helping you, I want to help you."

"But?"

"But nothing Dean."

"Ok, fine, nothing." Sam was kind of glaring at him, Dean recognized the look. He'd seen it once or twice in the last couple of years. "You mad at me, Sammy?"

That seemed to surprise his brother, "What? Why would I be mad at you?"

"I don't know, just a thought." He sighed. This was going to be a long night at this rate. He leaned back into the pillows and looked at Sam. Ok, fine, I'll bring it up. "We need to talk about this, Sam."

"About what, Dean?" Fear in his brother's eyes.

"What's going on."

"What do you mean?" Denial in his brother's eyes.

"Sammy," he said as gently as he could, "I, uh, I talked to Bryn about you staying here after I…if I…she said you could stay as long as you need to, here where it's safe." Sam looked stricken. "She even said that I could be buried…"

"Dean! No don't say that." Anger in his brother's eyes. Sam grabbed his arm. "No, Dean. I won't hear it."

That was it. "Sam, you have to accept that this might happen."

"Dean," Desperation in his brother's eyes.

"Sammy…"

"Don't say it." Sam was begging. "Please, don't Dean."

"What, Sam? The doctors told you a week ago there was no hope. You think I was asleep? You have to know, man."

"What Dean?" Everything gone from his brother's eyes except grief.

"I'm dying, Sammy."

Sam closed his eyes, turning his head away. He seemed to be struggling to breathe. "I know, Dean," He looked back, "I know."

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"Yeah, Dean, me too."

Dean closed his eyes. That was fun. Nothing like making your baby brother cry to really make your day. He suddenly regretted forcing the conversation. Sam knew the score, making him say it out loud didn't help either of them. Crap. That's why I don't talk about stuff. It's a pain and I suck at it.

"Dean?"

"I'm still here," he said opening his eyes and smiling at Sam. His brother smiled back, it was a little damp, but a good attempt. Diversion time. "So, a wendigo up north, you said?"

"Yeah, Idaho. I thought it might be interesting to check out, At least everything points to it being a wendigo," Sam said, playing along. Dean knew that's what he was doing, but it didn't matter. It felt almost normal. "It could be something else, but I don't know what. Sasquatch? They don't usually leave quite the trail of bodies."

"True, but we haven't really hunted a lot of sasquatches. There was that hunt with dad when you were twelve. Remember?"

"Yeah, there was that diner on the way up the mountain. They had the best cheeseburgers I had ever eaten, and after you got me an ice cream sundae."

"I seem to remember you got sick after that, too. Had to pull over so you wouldn't mess up the car."

"You'd remember that, of course."

"Hey, I'd only just got the car," Dean said smiling, thinking about the drive all those years ago.

"Yeah, it was the first time we rode together in the car by ourselves. Just the two of us." Sam had a genuine smile on his face. "It was great. I realize now that having your twelve year old brother tagging along all the time probably wasn't all that much fun for you, but it was great for me."

"I didn't mind, Sammy. Never."

"Not even when you had that hot date?"

"Which one? There've been a lot of those, dude," he said smiling.

"You remember—the co-ed in Spokane, Michaela?—I was twelve or thirteen I think?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember. Dad had to leave town and said I needed to keep an eye one you, so I brought you along."

"And the co-ed had a baby sister. My first serious kiss."

"Really?" He laughed. "You never told me."

"It wasn't a very good kiss. We held hands during the movie too, thought we were pretty grown up." Sam was laughing, too.

"You're such a slut, Sammy."

"Learned from the best."

"Thanks."

"Anytime." Sam was looking at him. "You need more of the swamp muck, Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so." Sam held the bottle so he could take sip. "You should try it, it's tasty. Really. Take a sip. Dare you."

"What?"

"Double dare you."

"Grow up, Dean." Sam was smiling, but the worry was back in his eyes. "How bad is it?"

"Tastes terrible."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. It's not good, but it's ok."

"You trying to make me feel better?"

"Nah, why would I do that?"

"Thanks for that."

"We need to talk," Bryn said coming back into the room.

"What?" Dean said looking at her.

"You've figured it out, haven't you?" Sam said, hope and a little fear in his voice.

"Yes, I have, I think I have at least. It matches up."

"Well?" Dean asked.

"_Onflyge."_ She said looking from one to the other.

"Huh?"

"It means flying venom in rough translation. It's a magical weapon wielded by elves, faeries and witches. It creates a wound that slowly destroys life force. Physical symptoms like pain and weakness caused by the invisible wound."

"Well, that explains why the doctors couldn't find anything. Invisible arrows just don't show up on X-ray." Dean said looking at Sam. His brother looked sick.

"Can you cure it?" Sam said. Dean could hear something in his brother's voice. It wasn't really fear, it sounded like dread, like he knew what was coming.

"There is a possible cure," she hesitated.

"It's like those ones you talked about at Stanford, isn't it? Half poison? You have to slow the body down almost to death out so the spell can work without actually killing the patient?" Sam said, Dean was worried about his tone.

"Yes, Sam."

"Only a lot of the time the patient dies anyway?" Sam was getting angry, Dean could see it.

"Sometimes. A lot of the time the patient wakes up just fine, too."

"You know that from personal experience?" Sam was definitely angry, defending him.

"Yes, I do. I have dealt with something similar before. Once or twice. It was a long time ago, but I have done it."

"And? Did they live or did you kill them?" Sam had stood and walked over in front of her. "Well?"

"I've lost people, I won't lie to you. Sometimes the wound is too big, the spell doesn't work right. The patient doesn't want to recover. Those all play a part."

"How many? How many have you killed?"

"Sam, that's enough," Dean said. His brother looked like he was about to take a swing at Bryn. The cat had walked to the end of the bed and was growling at his brother. "You, too." Brother and cat looked at him. "Let her finish."

"Dean…"

"Listening won't hurt anything, Sam. I missed the lecture, want to fill me in?"

"Dean," Sam looked at him, then backed down. He walked back over and sat on the edge of the bed. Like he was protecting Dean from a physical threat.

Bryn looked warily at Sam, she seemed to sense his mood. She walked to the other side of the bed so she could look at them both. "Magical weapons do a lot of damage. They kind of spread out, like roots, working their way through your body, heart, lungs, blood, after awhile they are pretty much everywhere. So, when you go to remove the roots and get rid of the wound, it is traumatic to the body. The pain is enough to kill all by itself. A long time ago they discovered, though, that if you slow the body down—knock the patient out—so the spell can work without the patient fighting the pain, fighting the effects of the charm, they can recover."

"Tell him the rest," Sam said. The cat hissed at him.

"You don't know when you give the medicine if the patient is going to recover. It might just help them go to sleep."

"Forever?" Dean said.

"Yes, it is kill or cure."

"And you won't know?"

"Until you die, Dean. We'll know then." Sam said still angry.

Dean looked at her, "Do you think it will work?"

"I think so, I hope so. I'm not sure, but I think it will."

"How long will it take to get ready?" Dean asked, knowing that spells could take awhile.

"Not all that long. I have the herbs all ready to go—I will have it within the hour, I think. It's a new moon, which is helpful," she said.

"Ok, do it, get it ready," Dean said to her, looking at Sam.

"Dean, no. No."

Still with his eyes on his brother he said "Is there any other way? Anything else that might work?"

"I'm sorry, no. This is all there is."

"Go ahead, get it ready," Dean didn't take his eyes off of Sam. He heard her leave the room, she called the cat to go with her.

"Dean, you can't."

"It's no bigger risk than surgery, Sam. They knock you out then, too, and you don't know if you'll wake up."

"This is different than surgery, Dean. Much different."

"Yeah, it is, Sammy. Because there is no other hope for me."

"The hospital?" Desperate.

"So I can die there? No, I'm not dying in a hospital, I would rather take this chance. This is what we understand, what we deal with everyday, it actually makes sense to me."

"Dean, I don't know."

"Yes you do. You always know. We have to try this, it's this or nothing." He looked at Sam and laid a hand gently on his knee. "I'm not going to make it through the night, Sammy. I think you know that, too. If we don't try this, I'll be gone anyway."

"Dean, I just don't…" He didn't seem to be able to go on.

"Yeah, me, too." He tried to smile at Sam, it didn't feel quite right. They sat together, not saying anything, each lost in thought. At least he'll be safe, Dean told himself, trying to ignore the fear he saw on his brother's face. He was getting worse, the pain was almost at the point he couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to mention it and add more to his brother's worry. Then he half laughed at himself. I'm dying—who do I think I'm fooling, anyway?

The cat hopped back on the bed, Bryn came in carrying a chalice. "Fancy cup," Dean said.

"Ritual cup," she said. "It's supposed to be fancy."

"That the stuff?" He was getting nervous. Kill or cure.

"Yes, it doesn't taste good, and I can't put anything in it to mask the flavor. It does have fennel in it which does help but the plantain, mugwort, yarrow and some other herbs kind of overpower the fennel."

"Not to mention the spell, right?"

"Yes, but they don't really have a lot of flavor."

"Is it quick? I mean to put me out?" He hoped so, lingering just didn't seem like all that much fun for him or Sam..

"Pretty quick, yes."

"Ok, I'm ready." He reached his hand for the cup, it was shaking, partly from the effects of the illness and partly because he was now completely terrified. Kill or cure. He hoped Sam couldn't see his fear.

"Here, Dean, let me" Sam took the cup and held it for him. He slipped his arm behind Dean's back so he could sit up a little. He couldn't really hide anything from Sam, could he? Dean drank the liquid, it tasted unbelievably bad. Too late to change my mind now. He leaned back again.

Bryn took the cup from Sam, "I'll be in the garden." She left them alone.

Sam shifted so he was sitting beside Dean. The cat settled on the end of the bed, looking at them. "Stupid cat."

Sam tried to laugh, it sounded a little more like a sob. "Yeah, Dean, stupid cat."

Dean could feel the drug beginning to work, consciousness was already getting harder and harder to hold on to. Should I say good-bye? If I do will it jinx me? I'm getting a little delirious.

"Dean, I…I…"

"Yeah, Sammy, me, too."

"I'll see you in the morning, Dean."

"Yeah, I'll see you, Sam. In the morning." The last shreds of consciousness were leaving him. "Sammy?" He said, suddenly afraid, for Sam, for himself.

"Dean?"

"Don't leave."

"Don't worry, Dean, I'll be here when you wake up."

Dean slid his hand desperately towards Sam, he felt Sam take it in his. He'll never let me live this down. A part of him smiled at the thought. He relaxed and let the spell, let the drug take him into the dark. He was aware of Sam's warm hand holding his long after all other sensation had ceased.

Surprisingly the dark was neither quiet nor pain-free. It was filled with nightmare images and occasional bursts of pain. At one point awareness, not really consciousness, but awareness, enough to think maybe he had cried out. He thought he felt Sam holding him down against the bed. He thought he heard his brother begging Bryn to give him another dose of the medicine, more of the spell. He thought he heard his brother saying even death was better than watching this. He wasn't sure what Sam had meant. Then liquid burning his throat and slowly awareness slipped away again. The dark was finally quiet, and still he could feel Sam's hand on his.

_To be continued_


	5. Chapter 5

**Waxing and Waning**

Chapter Five

The last sensation was also the first. As the dark receded, Dean was aware of Sam's hand still holding his. Man, I'll never live this down. The thought formed and he smiled to himself. Consciousness was returning much slower than it had left. He was still drifting, but it seemed the worst of the pain was gone. Mostly what was left was soreness, like he had overused his muscles and now had to pay for the exercise. More aware, he could feel the bed under him, could sense light on his eyelids. The sun was shining. He thought he could hear the stupid cat purring by his ear.

He opened his eyes. The light was bright in the room, even through the closed curtains. Sam wasn't on the bed anymore, he was in an overstuffed chair drawn up beside the bed. He was asleep. Dean smiled, his brother looked worse than he felt. Poor Sam, this hadn't been easy on him. His brother's arm looked uncomfortable stretched across the chair, his hand resting on Dean's. Dean tightened his grip on the hand. Sam was instantly awake.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Sam." Wow, his voice didn't have a lot of strength to it.

"Hey," Sam smiled at him. "How do you feel?"

"Better I think, still tired," he took a deep breath. "Yeah, better." He smiled at Sam. "What time is it?" Wondering how much of the day was gone.

"It's still morning, I think," his brother said.

"You don't look so good, Sammy. What's wrong? Are you ok?"

"What?" Sam looked a little confused. "What do you mean what's wrong? What do you think?"

"I'm fine, Sam, feeling better and better," he said, hoping Sam didn't hear how weak his voice was, hoping Sam hadn't noticed he was still holding his hand, hoping Sam wouldn't figure out he didn't have the strength to sit up by himself.

"You're fine, Dean? Yeah, fine," Sam said giving him _that_ look. Ok, maybe his brother had noticed something.

"I told you it would be ok," he said still trying the "let's fool Sam" game.

"I think you said you were dying," his brother apparently was not in the mood to play.

"Sam…I…" Yeah, no real come back to that. "Morning, huh? Have you eaten yet?" Trying to divert Sam—he could see something forming in his brother's eyes…

"Eaten?"

"Yeah, breakfast? Most important meal of the day?" And why did just talking seem to sap his strength?

Sam still had that look. "What are you talking about Dean?"

"Have you eaten? Breakfast? Didn't you say it was morning?" Sam was looking at him like he was insane. "Sam?" Now he was worried. Sam was just looking at him. "Sammy?"

"Why exactly are we talking about breakfast?"

"I wanted to know if you'd eaten yet. I figure you were probably sitting here all night, I just wanted to make sure…" Now the look Sam was giving him was kind of freaking him out.

His brother sighed. "Don't worry about it Dean, I've been eating."

"What all night?"

Sam smiled, it was kind of a sad smile. He gripped Dean's hand a little tighter. Ok, Sam noticed he still had his hand, too. "It's been a little longer than all night, Dean."

"You said it was morning."

"It is morning."

"Ok?" As awareness became sharper, his mind seemed to grasp the concept a little better. "It wasn't last night?" That might explain why he was tiring out so easily and why he was so thirsty. "Is there anything to drink?"

"Sure," Sam let go of his hand and grabbed a glass of water from the table by the bed. He slid his arm behind Dean and gently lifted him up. He helped Dean take a sip. "Do you want to sit up a little more?"

"Yeah," Apparently his brother had noticed he didn't have the strength to sit up by himself. Nice, this was getting embarrassing. Sam tucked some pillows behind his back and then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Yeah, Dean."

"Well?"

"Well?" Sam was giving him that look again. "Well what?"

Dean smiled, "Nothing." He noticed the cat get up and stretch and, after looking at him in that intense cat way, it hopped off the bed and out the door. "Stupid cat." His voice was just not getting stronger.

"Probably went to tell her your awake. I think he might be a familiar." Sam said with a smile.

"Told you." He said with a smirk.

"Yeah, you did." Sam seemed kind of hesitant, unsure.

"Am I going to make it, Sammy?" He said, mostly joking, but might as well just get it said.

"What?"

"What was hard about the question?"

"She said if you woke up…" Sam trailed off and looked at the wall.

"Sam? What's up?" He put his hand on his brother's leg. Something was definitely up.

"Nothing, Dean, Um…Nothing."

"Sam," he paused, the briefest spasm of pain flared in his chest. It must have shown on his face.

"Dean, what's wrong?" His brother sounded completely panicked. He jumped off the bed and looked like he was going to bolt out the door.

"Nothing, Sam, just a little sore. That's all, relax. You're making me nervous." Actually that spasm made him a little nervous, too, it didn't feel all that much like sore muscles.

Sam sank back down on the bed, "Sorry, man, it's been a long…"

"Would you stop doing that?"

"What?"

"The dramatic thing. I can hear you almost saying something, then just stopping. Knock it off."

"Dean…"

"And don't say sorry again."

Sam ran his hands through his hair. "Ok, sor…Ok, Dean. I'll just relax."

"That's better," he leaned back into the support of the pillows, the little strength he had woken up with was going pretty fast. He could hear it in his voice, he could feel it in his body. "I'm ok, Sammy. I think I need a little more sleep—you go eat, take a shower or something. I'll be fine. I'm sure the stupid cat will come back to keep an eye on me." He smiled at his brother, Sam smiled back. Dean let his head drop back against the pillows. I wonder how long this is going to go on, cause it kind of sucks. It was the last really coherent thought he had before he drifted back to sleep.

"Should I tell him?" Sam's voice drew Dean from his sleep.

"Tell him what?" Bryn said softly.

"How long it's been. Everything…" His brother's voice sounded weary, sad.

"I probably would, but that's up to you."

"I wouldn't mention how long at all, but he'll probably want to get back on the road again, and I think we should wait a day or two."

Dean wondered what they were talking about. Sam had said it was more than one night, although it didn't feel all that long. Nice thing about unconsciousness, time just flies. He did remember the nightmares from when he was out, but how much time had actually passed? It felt like forever, it felt like the blink of an eye.

She said gently, "He won't be able to go—even in a day or two, Sam." Her voice was concerned. Dean thought the concern was aimed at Sam.

"But…" his brother trailed off. He said he was going to knock that off, Dean thought with a smile. Drama queen.

"He probably won't even to be able to get up that soon," her voice was still concerned.

"I don't understand, you said if he woke up it would be ok." There was an edge to Sam's voice. Dean could understand why Bryn was concerned. Sammy wasn't holding it together all that well. He could hear it in his brother's voice. Once I'm all the way alert, we're going to have to talk about whatever it is.

"He will be ok. It's just that his body has been through an enormous trauma. He can't just hop out of bed after everything that's happened, no matter how determined he might be."

Sam snorted, "You don't know how determined he can be." Still with the edge of—what?—in his voice.

"The spell takes a toll, too, Sam. His body needs to heal, you can't just ignore the past five days."

What was that? What did she say? That brought Dean all the way awake, "What did you say?" he said it aloud.

"Hey, Dean, you're awake."

"Funny thing, sometimes talking wakes people up." He looked at Sam, his brother did not look good.

"I was trying to talk quietly."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time you should try it someplace other than by my head."

"Sorry, Dean."

Bryn looked at Sam for a long moment, the smiled at Dean. "Do you feel up to some broth?"

He thought about it for a minute. "Broth?"

"Broth."

"Yeah, if that's all I'm going to get." She laughed and left them alone. Dean looked at Sam. "How are you?"

"You know, it's funny. You've been sick, you wake up—hell even after you've been—and the first thing you ask is how I am." Sam said, he sounded a little angry.

"What's your point?" It just seemed so obvious to him, he was surprised Sam didn't get it.

"I don't know, Dean. No point I guess. I'm fine."

Uh oh, not good. "You look fine, Sammy."

"What does that mean?" He snapped.

"Relax, ok?" Dean sighed. He was pretty sure Sam was about to blow. He could hear it in his voice, could see it in the tension in his shoulders. Sam reacted that way sometimes and it needed to be diffused before it got out of hand.

"Relax?" Sam looked at him. "Relax, Dean?"

Maybe he should try a different tack. "What were you talking about? When I woke up?" Pretending to ignore the tension emanating from Sam.

"What?" Sam said, momentarily distracted.

"What you were talking about? When I woke up? Like five minutes ago? Hello?"

"Um, we weren't really talking about anything. I just don't want to overstay our welcome."

"And why do you think you can get away with that?"

"Get away with what?"

"Lying to me?"

"Not lying," Sam said, sounding a lot like sulky five year old Sammy.

"Come on, you haven't been able to lie to me about the big stuff since you were three." Dean shook his head. Well that took more effort than he had planned on. "Sam." He tried to pull off the stern big brother voice. It didn't really work in his condition, it actually sounded kind of pathetic. Great.

"I. Am. Fine. Dean." Each word enunciated carefully.

"No. You're. Not." Right back atcha. Sam looked a bit crazed. Dean was glad he was laying in bed, if not Sam might just take a swing at him.

"Dean…" There was quite an edge to his voice now.

"Sam?"

"I'm fine Dean, just a little stressed," his voice had gotten very soft. Dean braced himself, here it comes. "FROM THE LAST FIVE DAYS!" He stood up. "No I take that back—from the last three weeks, Dean. First you're sick and I have no idea what's going on—then it's let's check ourselves out against medical advice time. And we end up here and you spend the time being all happy we can be together where it's safe and I…" he took a breath. "I get to watch you dying, just slipping away, getting weaker and weaker every second and can't do anything about it. You decide to take the medicine and I'm the one who gives it to you. I'M THE ONE WHO GAVE YOU THAT POISON!"

"What?" That was unexpected.

"I gave it to you, Dean. I'm the one…"

"Sammy, I wanted to take it. It was the only way." What was going on?

Sam looked at him, there was something seriously wrong, Dean could see it clearly in his brother's eyes. Sam sank down onto the bed. "I gave it to you—twice," the anger was leaving his voice. "It was so terrible, Dean. You were…I…You have no idea. I begged her and she told me the second time that it would kill you…and I gave it to you. I gave you the poison—I gave it to you so you could die."

"Sam…" What could he possibly say? Of all the things he thought it might be, that one was nowhere on the list.

"I'm so sorry Dean," Sam sounded guilty, he seemed to be folding in on himself. "The second day it started. You started fighting the spell. It was…" Sam swallowed hard. "You were screaming. I had to hold you down so you wouldn't hurt yourself. She said the _onflyge _was overpowering her spell. It was...You were...I begged her to make more, I had to do something, anything to help you." He looked at Dean, tears on his face, his eyes imploring Dean to understand. "She said she would, but she told me… she said I had to understand that it wasn't about curing you anymore, and I told her ok. She brought it to me, and I, I gave it to you knowing full well…"

"Sam." This needed to be dealt with and quick.

"You just went limp. You were still breathing, but only just. I sat and watched, to make sure that you took each breath. Waiting for the moment you stopped. Waiting for the poison I gave you to kill you."

"But it didn't." He said, hoping to remove the look of misery from Sam's face.

"I expected it to, I even wanted it to at one point. Oh, god, Dean, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, you did what you thought was right," he said smiling at Sam. He could feel tears welling in his eyes. He hoped Sam didn't notice. "Sammy, this might surprise you…"

"What?"

"I trust you with my life, little brother. I know you will make the right choice—no matter what it is. Ok?" He searched Sam's eyes, looking for comprehension. He laid a hand on his brother's leg, shook it a little. "I mean it, Sam. Whatever the choice."

"Dean," Sam took a deep breath and dragged a sleeve across his face. "You trying to make me feel better?"

"Nah, why would I do that?"

"Thanks for that." He said with a smile.

"Yeah, me too." Dean tried to sit up in the bed, he'd slid down while he was asleep and the conversation with Sam had distracted him. "Can you give me a hand, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," his brother said helping him up and fixing the pillows behind him. "Dean," he still had that look in his eyes.

"Nope. Drop it Sam, you did what was needed, can't ask for more than that," he paused. "Actually I can—where's that broth she promised me?"

"I'll go see if it's ready," Sam squeezed his shoulder and walked out of the room.

Dean settled back on the pillows, closing his eyes for a minute. It had been harder than he thought on Sam. Nice to know his brother could make that choice for him—I wonder if I can, if I need to? He shifted again. That wasn't just a sore muscle. He concentrated on that little ache, and became aware of a little black spot of pain right by his heart, right where the original wound had been. Ah, crap.

_To be continued_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! I am humbled by your response. And thank you again to SupernaturalGeek for words of wisdom on this chapter!_

**Waxing and Waning**

Chapter Six

Sam sat with him the rest of the day. Dean dozed on and off, and every time he woke up Sam was still there, right beside the bed. He had a book on his lap, but a lot of the time when Dean looked over his brother was just staring off into space. That staring worried Dean a little, but he knew things had been rough, so he let it go.

Bryn brought dinner back to the bedroom for Sam and another mug of the broth. Sam patiently helped Dean while eating his own food. Sometimes he's a better person than I am, I would have been teasing him by now. Maybe not, though, considering.

After the broth—surprise, surprise—he was sleepy again. It was nice to drop off knowing that the chances were really good you were going to wake up again. He did wake sometime in the night and Sam was still there, asleep in the chair. It looked uncomfortable for someone Sam's size, Dean smiled affectionately and drifted back off.

Sam was gone when Dean woke up the next morning. He had to laugh at himself—there had been a brief moment of panic before he had heard Sam's voice from the kitchen. I am so never telling him about that. He shifted in the bed. He felt stronger. He tried pulling himself up to a sitting position—and managed it. He was still smiling about that when Sam came back in with two cups, it smelled like coffee.

"Did you sit up? By yourself?" Sam said, an idiotic smile spreading across his face.

"No, Sam, the stupid cat helped me," he caught Sam glancing around the room looking for the cat. He laughed at him, "Of course I sat up, what do you think?"

"That's great! You want to try drinking by yourself, too? Or is that too much?" Sam said sitting on the edge of the bed.

I must be getting better, because he's teasing me. It felt good. "Sure, I'll try—you can always clean me up."

"Thanks." Sam said carefully putting the cup into his hand.

Dean took a sip, "Is this a latte? Dude, are you giving me a _latte_?"

"You're lucky you got coffee at all, she said you should wait another day, I thought the latte was a good compromise."

"Thanks, Sam. I do appreciate it." He took another sip. Coffee, the day was already looking up. And it really did taste good. He was pretty sure his stomach wasn't up to anything solid yet. He shifted, his muscles were sore. He caught Sam watching him. "What?"

"I was wondering…"

"Didn't we talk about the dramatic thing?"

"Yeah, we did. I was wondering…" He deliberately paused and grinned at him. "Would you like me to fill the bath? It's a nice deep tub—maybe a soak would help?"

Dean was torn, the thought of soaking the ache out of his muscles was almost intoxicating; the thought that Sam would have to help him in and out was a little humiliating. Sam was watching him, Dean could see him trying to keep his face neutral. "Yeah, Sam. I think a bath might help." Sam disappeared, Dean heard the water start in the bathroom.

"Do you want a little more coffee?" Sam said sticking his head back into the room.

"Nope. I think this is fine," Dean said. Hot coffee and hot bath. Yep, the day was looking up. He felt a twinge in his chest. Still there. Not good. I wonder if I should mention that? Not yet, it still might go away.

"You ready for that bath?" Sam said coming back into the bedroom. He gently helped Dean up and onto his feet. Great, legs aren't working too well yet. Sam pretty much carried him into the bathroom, he was trying to make it as easy on Dean as he possibly could, Dean was grateful for that. Once he sank down comfortably into the tub, the warm water relaxing tense and sore muscles, he fell asleep.

"Do you want to sit in the garden?" Sam asked sometime later, after helping Dean out of the bath.

"The garden?"

"Yeah, Bryn asked me to do some more weeding, but I don't want to…" He paused waiting, Dean rolled his eyes, Sam laughed. "I don't want to leave you alone, so I thought you might want to sit out there for awhile."

"Sure, Sammy, that actually sounds great." So instead of being carried back to the bedroom, he was carried into the garden. Sam must have expected him to say yes—there was a lounge chair with pillows and a blanket waiting in one part of the garden. The cat was curled up on the end of the chair, it opened an eye when Sam helped him sit down. "Hello, stupid cat."

"The cat hates me." Sam said looking at it warily. "It growls at me and hisses if I get to close. If I didn't know better I'd think it was holding a grudge."

"Grudge? For what Sam?"

Sam looked uncomfortable, he was looking everywhere but at Dean. "Nothing. Maybe cause I yelled at her that one night."

He was lying, Dean knew it, but he let it go. "Sure, that's probably it. Where's Bryn?"

"She went to the store. She said she'd let her clientele slip for long enough. She said she'll be home for dinner and left lunch for me and some of that broth for you. Whenever you're hungry I'll go get it."

"I'm fine for now, you probably should get to weeding," Dean leaned back onto the chair. It felt good to be outside. He'd been pretty sure the other day was going to his last chance, so this was nice. Sam kept glancing up at him. He's still worried about me. Good thing I didn't tell him…I don't think I will, actually. The cat had crawled up and laid down on his lap, he realized he'd been petting it. "Stupid cat."

They spent most of the day in the garden. Sam would weed while Dean napped, then come over to sit and talk while he was awake.

"I see what you meant," Sam said late that afternoon.

"What, random?"

"About being safe, it is nice to know you can be safe here—that you don't have to worry about anything."

That was a weird statement. Not I but you. Dean looked over at Sam. "What do you mean? Don't you feel safe here?" Maybe not, considering all that had happened.

Sam frowned, "Of course I feel safe here, Dean." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He shook his head with that quizzical look he got sometimes when he was trying to explain something, but his brother just wasn't getting it. "I'm just glad you do, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dean," Sam laughed, "you just don't get it, do you?"

"Get? Get what, Sammy?"

"Maybe I'm being unfair—I only really realized this the other day."

"Sam."

"I've never felt not safe."

"What? You had to, considering everything we've seen and done."

"No, Dean, I've been frightened, but never not safe," he looked at him. "Remember when we were kids? I was three or four I think and dad had gone out so we were staying all alone in that creepy motel room?" Sam smiled as he saw Dean nod. "I was so scared, I was hiding in the bathtub, crying. You came and found me and put me to bed. You told me you'd watch out all night and keep me safe. I took you at your word, Dean. After that I always knew I was safe."

"I find that hard to believe," he said, hoping Sam couldn't see what that simple statement had done to him.

"It's true, Dean," Sam sighed, looking out over the plants. "I don't think I ever really thought about it until we were talking in the garden. When you said we were safe here and I heard something in your voice."

"Sam," he said warningly.

"You sounded so happy, even with everything, even knowing you were dying." Sam paused and looked at him. "You were so happy and I was miserable. Because I realized that my entire sense of safety relied on you." He swallowed.

Dean reached over and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sammy, you don't mean that."

"But I do Dean, there was so little security in our lives, nothing was sure, not even knowing where home would be at the end of the day. But even with all that I knew you'd given your word and I was safe. Even while I was at Stanford, even after that, as long as I knew you were around, I was safe. Nothing bad would happen and if it did you'd be there to fix it. It's pretty childish, I know, but it's one of those truths that has just stuck with me."

Dean felt tears in his eyes and hoped they would go no further. It was funny how Sam could say something that was so obvious to him, but just shattered Dean's world. That simple faith in him—what had he ever done to deserve that? How could he repay that trust? He cleared his throat, "Sam."

"I know, Dean, chick-flick is over, right?" Sam stood up, "I'm going to go get the clippers from the shed, be right back." Dean watched as Sam strode away.

"That wasn't what I was going to say at all," Dean said to the cat.

In the morning Sam brought him coffee again. This time it was more like a real coffee, less like a latte. Much better. About halfway through his coffee Sam got up and started the water running in the bath. He came back and helped Dean in.

"I'll be in the garden, Dean, call me when you are ready to get out," Sam said setting Dean's phone down where he could reach it.

"Thanks Sam," Dean watched him go. Something felt a little off with Sam. He wondered what was up. He got an inkling once or twice yesterday, but nothing he could put his finger on. Sam couldn't still be feeling guilty, could he? He leaned back into the warm water. What could be bothering his brother? He drifted off to sleep still thinking about it.

When he woke up the water was still a little warm. Good, not sleeping as long. He looked down at the phone. Screw that. He slowly pulled himself upright then stood. That worked. He stepped out of the tub and made it all the way to the toilet before he had to sit down. Luckily the towels and his clothes were on the sink, right next to where he was sitting. Feeling confident he stood up again and headed towards the kitchen. He was leaning heavily on the wall by the time he got to the door, and it was enough. He couldn't go any further. He slid down the wall and put his head on his knees. Sam's going to kill me.

"Dean?"

He looked up, "Yeah?"

"What are you doing here?" Sam was standing in front of him with one of those looks.

"Resting."

"Resting?"

"Yeah, I thought this would be a good place to rest."

"Right, because that makes sense." Sam walked over an got a couple of cups out of cupboard. He filled them with coffee and a splash of milk. He came back over, sat down beside Dean and handed him one of the cups. They sat together quietly for a minute. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"What are you doing here?" Sam looked at him. "And don't say resting."

"But that's what I'm doing, resting." He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Resting long enough to get the energy to crawl back to the phone in the bathroom."

"You should have just called in the first place."

"I know. I just wanted…" The trek to where he was now sitting tired him out more than he thought it would. It was depressing. What was that about twenty steps? And here I am about to catch hell from Sam about it.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam," he said bracing himself for the coming explosion.

"You made it all the way to the kitchen."

"What?" He opened his eyes and looked over at his brother, Sam's eyes were bright.

"You made it all the way to the kitchen."

"You said that."

"Yeah, cause you did." Sam was smiling, the tears still in his eyes. "You made it."

That last you made it sounded like it meant something different. "Sammy?"

"I think this calls for a celebration," Sam said, standing.

"Champagne?" He looked up at his brother with a grin.

"How about solid food?"

"That sounds better than champagne," he held his hand out and Sam hauled him to his feet and helped him over to the table. "Bacon and eggs?"

"Why don't we start with toast?" Sam said smiling at him, he seemed a lot happier about Dean's foolish attempt to make it into the kitchen than he should. Why didn't he yell at me about that?

"Thanks, Sam."

"For what, Dean?"

"Making toast," and everything else.

"Yeah, sure."

They sat and ate the toast in the bright kitchen—Sam let him have another cup of coffee. For being nothing more than toast with a little jam it tasted great. Possibly one of the best meals he had ever eaten. He smiled to himself, watching Sam eating only toast, so he wouldn't tempt Dean to try something that was too hard on his stomach. Yep, better than me, I would have been eating steak.

"Do you want to go into the garden? I have more chores assigned for today," Sam said after they had finished.

"Chores?"

"Not really, she just asked if I could trim back some of the trees. She showed me how she wanted it done—she even explained that when I cut the elder I have ask permission before I do, and then say thank you when I'm done."

"Freaked out New Age wack job."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he grinned. "Yeah, I'd like to come out. You'll have to help, I can't make it all the way on my own." Yet.

"Not yet at least," Sam said like he'd read his mind.

Sam had moved the lounge chair out in the back where he would be working that day. The cat was waiting beside the chair. Sam helped him get settled then set to work. Dean watched him. His brother was remarkably good at yard work for someone who had never really lived where there was a yard. He was sleepy again, the hike and breakfast had tired him out. He was feeling better about it all, though. Sam's reaction to his trek was the better one, he had decided. I should be happy I can walk at all. He drifted off to sleep still smiling.

That evening Bryn came out into the garden. She sat down beside the chair. The cat got off his lap and rubbed its head against her. "Pyewacket likes you." She looked at him. "How are you feeling?"

Dean smiled, "Pretty good."

She looked around, then back at him. "He's out of earshot. How are you feeling?"

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Know that there is something more, something else," he shrugged, he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say.

"Part of the job, I guess. You didn't answer my question."

He sighed, knowing he wasn't going to be able to get out of it—not that he really wanted to, "Stronger. I made it to the kitchen by myself today," she was smiling at him. "Sam told you? Figures. It's just…" He trailed off, good thing Sam didn't hear him do that. He was hesitant, thinking that maybe if he didn't say it out loud it wouldn't be real.

"It's still there," she said gently.

"Yeah, I noticed it yesterday. It's not like before, but it's there."

"I was a little worried about that. The wound was so old by the time you came to me and it took me so long to figure it out," she smiled an apology.

"What does it mean?" Might as well know, so he could take care of stuff. "Will I get sick again?"

"I'm not really sure, but I don't think so. You survived—and you know most wouldn't have—so it is new territory for me. I've been thinking about it quite a bit and I think what has happened is the wound isn't all the way closed yet and this might be the beginnings of a bad scar. It might trouble you now and then, but as the wound heals completely, it should fade over time. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Shouldn't be? You mean it might be?"

"Yes, I won't lie to you. But I think with the right charm and a few choice herbs—tasty I promise you—we should be able to keep it under control until it's all the way gone."

"Good," he said, a little giddy with relief. All the way gone, even if it took a little time, sounded good to him. A sudden thought occurred to him. "You won't tell Sam?"

"No, it's not my place to tell him. You should though, he deserves to know."

"It'd just worry him."

"I think he would worry less knowing, than not. If something happened, he might be angry you hadn't told him."

"Story of my life," he said with a smile to take the sting out of it. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"You can ask. Do you want to know if I'm a witch?"

"Not going to waste my question on something I know already," he laughed. "No, it's not that at all. It's just, well Sam told me you left Stanford suddenly, like right in the middle of classes and just disappeared."

"Yes, I did, I came back here."

"It's because someone was hunting you?"

"Not someone, some_thing_. Yes, that was why I left. Is that your question?"

"Mostly, raises another though. Are you human?"

She laughed, a bright sound, "I'm a little fey around the edges, but mostly."

He laughed with her, "Well, that's ok, then. Does Sam know?"

"Until a few seconds ago only Pyewacket knew."

"Great, me and the stupid cat. Figures." The cat, sensing Dean was talking about him walked across his chest and peered into his eyes. "Great."

"What are you two talking about?" Sam said walking out from under the trees.

"The stupid cat," Dean said with a smile. Almost on cue the cat growled at Sam. "What is your problem, cat?"

"If you don't mind, I think I will borrow Pyewacket and go get a couple of things brewing," she smiled at them. "I'll put some dinner on, too."

Sam sat down on the edge of the chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good," Didn't I just have this conversation?

"Not too tired?"

"No Sam, I'm fine, laying here all day doesn't take that much effort."

"That's good." Sam shifted onto the chair a little more. "I'm glad you're up and around."

Something was up. That feeling Dean had yesterday and this morning was back full force. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

Dean sighed. She was right, Sam deserved to know. He just didn't want to worry his brother, make his world less safe. I told him I trusted him with my life, I know he trusts me with his."Sam, I…uh…there's something we need to talk about."

"What?"

"It's just that, this thing…it didn't…it's not," he was looking at Sam trying to figure out how to say it.

"I know, Dean."

"What?" What was that, Sammy?

"I know. It's still there. How bad is it?" His voice was shaking. Dean could see fear on his brother's face.

"It's not bad, Sam. I asked her about it, she said it's because it hasn't healed all the way, but it will go away. It probably won't be a problem."

"It might, though?"

"I asked her the same thing. She said it might, but she was going to give me some stuff to control it until it's gone," he looked at his brother. "How long have you known?"

"That it was still there? From that first twinge after you woke up. I just knew, somehow."

"It's what's been bothering you. Sam why didn't you say something?"

"Yeah, and you lost your ability to speak when? You could have said something, too."

"I didn't want to worry you, you know."

"I am only going to say this once more Dean. You need to get it through your head that I am going to worry about you. It's just the way it is, you're my brother and I get to worry."

Dean smiled. Sam had worked himself into quite a temper with that little speech. And even though he didn't want his brother to worry, it was kind of nice knowing he did. Somehow it made everything a little bit better. "Quite a speech, Sammy."

Sam looked a little sheepish, "Sorry about that. I've been a little crazy thinking it wasn't gone, and you were just not going to mention it. I cornered Bryn the other night and she wouldn't say anything one way or the other. It's when the cat got pissed."

"The other night? Before I woke up?"

"Yeah, I wanted to know if you woke up what would happen." Sam sighed. "She wouldn't tell me anything, she said she didn't know."

"She told me the same thing. Said she just didn't know because I…"

"Because you lived when most people would have died. I know. That's what I've held on to. That you made it when most wouldn't." Sam smiled, there were tears in his eyes. "You made it."

"Yeah, Sammy, I did."

**Epilogue**

The fifth day after he woke up Dean could make it all the way to the garden by himself. It had been quite an event, Sam called it a triumphal march. As triumphal as it might have been it did have an air of comedy to it. Dean slowly walking out the door, Sam hovering just behind in case he fell and the stupid cat leading the way with its tail in the air like a parade flag. Good thing no one had a camera, Dean thought later in the day, after a quick nap to recover.

Bryn finished the charm and gave it to him. He was to wear it against his skin, near his heart. When he had put it on the wound had given a violent twist and then was quiet. He could hardly sense it at all anymore. The pendent felt oddly warm and comforting. Safe. She had carefully shown both he and Sam how to brew the herbs and do the spell for the medicine she was sending with them.

By the ninth day they were ready to hit the road again. Dean still wasn't completely recovered, but he could get around by himself and could stay up most of the day without a nap. A part of him didn't want to leave at all. There was something very inviting about Bryn's place, safe, protected. That part of him longed to stay. He knew he couldn't.

"I have something for you," Bryn said as they were finishing loading the car.

Dean turned and smiled at her, she had a large box in her hands. "What's that?" Sam came around and stood by him.

"First aid kit," she said.

"We have one," Sam said.

"Not like this one. Here, let me show you," She put the box carefully down on the hood of the car. The cat jumped down off the car's roof to peer into the box with Sam and Dean. The box was full of bags and bottles, each with a label, some with directions. There were also a book and chalice.

"Fancy cup," Dean said.

"Ritual cup, it's supposed to be fancy." She smiled. "I made sure you had an extra large supply of this." She pulled a large blue bottle out of the box.

Sam squinted at the label "_Palus Fimus_? What's that?"

"As close as I could get to translating swamp muck into Latin."

Dean laughed, "Thanks, makes it sound more official that way."

"I thought so. You know it's more than a painkiller. Use it whenever you need it, if you run out, let me know. I put a spellbook in too, just in case. I tried to cover most contingencies, same goes for the herbs. I put directions on the mixes, and labeled everything else. I hope it helps. I Bolted the box, too. It should help keep everything safe."

"Thanks," Sam picked it up and carefully stowed it in the trunk.

"I have something else for you," she was smiling at Dean. She handed him a little jar.

"What's that?"

"A whisker, Pyewacket wanted you to have it."

Dean looked at the cat, it looked back. "Stupid cat."

She laughed, then turned serious. "If you ever need me, call. I'll come, no questions."

"Same goes for you. If you need us, for anything, no questions."

"Thank you," she pulled Dean into a gentle hug. The sense of peace, of safety and warmth flowed into him, filling him, driving that little black spot away almost completely. He leaned into the hug a little more than he usually would, then pulled gently away.

"Thank you," trying to convey everything in those two words. She smiled understanding. She turned and hugged Sam. His brother returned it. Dean picked the cat up off the car and petted it before handing it to Bryn. "Good-bye, Pyewacket."

Sam got into the driver's seat and Dean dropped down into the passenger seat. Since he still had a tendency to fall asleep throughout the day, he thought it was better if Sam drove for awhile. Damn it was good to be back in the Impala. Bryn waved as they pulled out. They both waved back.

"Why would she need us, no questions, Dean?"

"What?"

"What you said. You meant something, not just the 'call sometime' thing."

Dean snorted, "Client/freaked out New Age wack job privilege, Sam."

"What?"

"Sorry, can't tell you. But it's nothing to worry about." Sam looked at him, a little concerned. "I mean that. "

"Ok. That was the oddest hug," Sam said. "I feel, I don't know, lighter or something."

How could his brother be that dense sometimes? "I told you Sammy, witch."

"You still think she's a witch?"

"You still think she's not?" But apparently he could.

"Jerk"

"Bitch," Dean laughed and turned up the stereo. It was good to be on the road again.

_The End_


End file.
